


A Reason to Say His Name

by evilicious



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Game Spoilers, Kid Fic, Multi, Parenthood, Team as Family, after canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilicious/pseuds/evilicious
Summary: Akira gives Goro a loving family, a warm home and unconditional acceptance. Goro doesn't have much to offer, since Akira already stole his heart....or the AU where Akira and Akechi are living two very different, very separate lives raising their kids who they named after each other until, suddenly, their two lives aren't that separate after all.





	1. Chapter 1

                Just for the record, Makoto had wanted to name her first-born son after her deceased father who died on the line of duty, not the teenage hitman who quite literally murdered himself after trying, and failing, to kill both her and her husband repeatedly. His name hadn’t been her second or third choice, either. In fact, it hadn’t even made it onto the list of names she’d even _considered._

                So, when Akira asked if she wanted to name their child in _his_ memory, (Yes, he’d been _that_ vague.) naturally she’d assumed he meant her father and agreed immediately.

                Only a month later, two hours after giving birth, did she realize how wrong she was and, by that point, it was already too late. Her son was legally named “Goro Kurusu” and, at the time, she was far, far too tired to be pissed at her husband. But Akira was far from off the hook. He spent two weeks on the couch and several more sucking up to her before she let him back into their bedroom.

                She would never tell, but Makoto had already forgiven Akira two days after Goro’s birth. It wasn’t the name she disliked and, though she felt more than a little betrayed about her husband going behind her back like that, what truly angered her was the jealousy that had surged up because of it. Knowing that, even after nine years, Akira _still_ thought about Goro Akechi hurt. Makoto was her teenage self all over again, wishing that her older sister would be as proud of her as she was of her genius protégé, sitting at the kitchen table alone with two servings of food because Sae had called last-minute to say she was treating Akechi to dinner, listening to him chastising her about her inability to do anything with that annoying grin on his face and not being able to argue because she _knew_ he was right… Everywhere she looked, there he was, a constant reminder that, no matter how hard she tried, _her_ very best was never going to be as good as _his_. Even after learning about his murderous alter-ego, her feelings of inferiority didn’t fade. If anything, they got worse. Not only had Goro Akechi matched her in test scores and scholastic achievements, he did it while balancing being a detective _and_ a celebrity and now a job as a hitman, as well. Her test grades had gone down a couple points due to stress and sleep lost thanks to palaces, but his remained outstanding despite fighting in the Metaverse alone and far more frequently than the Phantom Thieves even at their busiest.

                But Goro Akechi was dead and, years later, she still felt envious of him. Makoto knew Akira cared more deeply for his friends than anything else and she _knew_ that he would have passed on the name of _any_ of them had they died in the Metaverse the same as Akechi, but a part of her, the part Makoto _hated_ , reminded her of how _close_ Akira had been with their ex-teammate and whispered, ‘ _no, he wouldn’t.’_

* * *

 

 

                Goro Akechi never planned on being a father. At one point, he’d wanted a family but, like Shido’s palace, that ship had long sailed, exploded from the inside out and burnt to a crisp. The few salvageable pieces remaining sank to the bottom of the ocean, never to see daylight again.

                Until now.

                He’d run away from the only people who had ever looked and seen _him_ rather than an asset or a tool or some disposable resource after putting a bullet through the brains of the only person who seemed to truly understand him. Instead of facing them, Akechi had had worn his failure like a hood, turned his back and _fled_ to some back-water town with a ridiculously high murder rate where nobody would recognize him. He didn’t deserve a family and no family deserved to be dependent on someone as unqualified for unprofessional relationships as him. It would be unfair to them.  Even if someone _could_ love him, he had nothing to offer and everything to gain. Families were people who shared mutual trust and cared for each other and stuck together and Goro Akechi was… He wasn’t family material; he was soiled, damaged goods and far too self-aware to pretend otherwise.

                But…

                Akechi sighed as he glanced down at the small, bright-eyed child wiggling about for attention in his lap. The two-month-old infant had been found stuffed in a closet at a crime scene, babbling happily as his parents lay dead outside the door. It had been ruled a double homicide as the husband had kept his wife locked in a basement before she tried to stab… The detective shook his head and willed the mental images away. Even for him, that particular crime scene had been difficult to stomach.

                With no living relatives, the baby would go to an orphanage to get adopted or, more likely, wind up stuck in the foster system spending his childhood bouncing from home to home. The thought of subjecting this innocent little boy to the same hell he’d endured for the majority of his youth set something inside of him ablaze and the same Goro Akechi who was known throughout the police department as the apathetic, almost robotic detective with fiery wits and a metal heart, surprised everyone, including himself, when he volunteered to adopt the child. His coworkers had tried to talk him out of it (“That’s a lot of responsibility. Raising a kid is no joke. You sure you can handle this?”) but the detective would have none of it, and, with a zeal he usually reserved for solving homicides, started working on the paperwork legalizing everything the next day.

                The baby had no birth certificate. Based on his size and development, the doctor had been able to estimate an age, but that did very little in terms of figuring out his name. So, addressing the first of many legal documents he’d have to fill out, Goro picked up his pen and didn’t spare even a moment of thought before his hand started filling in the first blank.

                Name: _Akechi Akira._


	2. Chapter 2

                To Akira’s surprise, being a parent wasn’t nearly as difficult as he’d anticipated. Not that he had done enough research to accurately anticipate anything; that part of the baby preparations had been entirely Makoto. He and Makoto—who was he kidding? It had been mostly just Makoto- had been getting ready for a baby months before Goro had even been conceived, so they had not only gathered all the necessities, but written out a game plan and come up with a work schedule that would allow at least one of them to be home with Goro as much as possible once Makoto returned to the police station from maternity leave. Akira mostly just did what she told him to and was winging everything else and, so far, that was working out pretty well for him.

                It helped that he lived with a cat who could change diapers in the middle of the night and had a plethora of willing and eager babysitters to choose from. Futaba and Yusuke, being the head programmer of her own software development company and an artist respectively, had the most flexible schedules and could do their work _anywhere_. They probably would have just camped out in Goro’s nursery if it hadn’t been for Makoto putting her foot down when the two started showing up unexpectedly, half the time with Mishima, Yusuke’s PR rep, Futaba’s business partner and probably _the_ only reason either was successful in the first place, in tow.

                Makoto posted a schedule of acceptable days and times the Kurusu household was allowing open-access for visitors in their massive group chat that was frequently updated with days she and Akira’s work schedules overlapped, later modifying it to include how _many_ visitors could be present after twenty people showed up for lunch one Thursday. Using that as a basis, Mishima beat Futaba to the punch in creating a sign-up app and, rather than visitation rights being on a first come, first serve basis, gave everyone a limited supply of seven monthly ‘Guros’ to go towards trips to the Kurusu’s. Haru asked if there was a way to earn _more_ Guros and, to Akira’s infinite amusement, the poker chips used on their monthly Game Night at LeBlanc started representing who got dibs on _what,_ with Chihuya, Hifumi and Sae hoarding the vast majority.

                Those who were less lucky on Game Night and had already exhausted their Guros before the month was up started inventing more _creative_ reasons for visiting. Ryuji’s “Yo, Makoto. We went to the doc today and she said Ann and the baby are perfectly healthy and prescribed _me_ ten hours mandatory baby-holding time before Ann pops ours out because I’m frickin’ _shit_ at baby-handling. Man, what the hell’s up with that?” and Toranosuke’s “I need to practice kissing babies for my next campaign.” had been two of the better ones in Akira’s opinion, but _he_ wasn’t the one who needed to be convinced. If it were up to him, they’d have a full house all the time but he knew how that, as much as she loved their friends, being surrounded by people exhausted her and respected his wife enough to not breach into the moments of quiet she needed to function. The only one who managed to get past Makoto every time had been Kawakami whose free house-cleaning-services were a small blessing.

                Realizing that she wouldn’t earn Guros on Game Night and not being rude enough to show up unannounced, Ann had the brilliant idea of planning date-nights for Akira and Makoto and then taking over as babysitter. Unfortunately, before she'd got the chance to babysit, she’d gone into labor early and birthed her and Ryuji’s daughter, Toxic Rose -- _“We wanted to go with something badass and tough and what’s more hardcore than poison?” (“I don’t know, Ryuji,” Morgana murmured under his breath. “Maybe a decent name.”) “But we also wanted to give her something pretty, ya know?” Ryuji continued. “Our little girl can be a princess if she wants, but if that ain’t the mold she wants to fit, she can dissolve right through it.”_ \- two days before the date of the restaurant and show reservations, leaving it up to someone else to baby sit Goro last-minute.

                “Playing Mozart would make him more artistically inclined, Futaba. I was only suggesting that we let Goro listen to some classical music instead to—”

                “To create another art monster like you? No way, you stupid Inari!” Futaba turned up the volume settings on her laptop. “Goro’s listening to some _foreign_ music to crank his capacity for learning new languages.”

                “I highly doubt exposing an infant to _memes_ will ‘crank his capacity’ for anything.”

                “What was that you just said—”

                “Hey!” Morgana interrupted. “I could use a little help here--!”

                The two babysitters stopped arguing and looked over to where Goro had the struggling cat in a death grip.

                “Awww, look at how _strong_ you are!” Futaba cooed.

                Yusuke tapped his his lips in thought and nodded in agreement. “Yes, this is quite impressive.”

                “Guys!” the cat whined. “Joker, make them do something!”

                “No can do, Mona,” the former leader of the Phantom Thieves smirked, buttoning his jacket. “Joker’s off the clock.”

                “On the clock, actually. We should have left five minutes ago.” Makoto corrected pointedly, arms crossed in the doorway.

                “Your sacrifice will be remembered, Mona. Duty calls.” Akira offered a mock-solute. “Fox, Oracle, hold down the fort.”

                Yusuke nodded. “Naturally.”

                Futaba rolled her eyes. “Oh, get going already, you big dork.”

                Akira gave a theatric bow before joining his wife outside.

                Makoto started up the car and hesitated. “Are you sure they’ll be okay? I’m a little nervous about leaving our son alone with two…” She trailed off, not knowing how to word ‘socially inept, over-grown children suffering from lack of situational awareness’ in a way that didn’t sound offensive.

                “They’ll be fine,” Akira assured. “I have complete faith in them.”

                His wife hummed and pulled out of the driveway, squinting at the bright lights of an oncoming car as they started down the road. “These lights are really messing with me. For a second, that looked like Boss.”

                Next to her Akira shrugged, unable to stop himself from smiling in the dark. “It was. Sojiro volunteered to sneak in and grab Goro and Morgana up as soon as we left.”

                “He _what?_ ”

                “Well, he didn’t really _volunteer._ I had to cash in a couple favors.”

                Makoto waited until they reached the next red light to turn on her husband. “Is _that_ why we were running late?”

                “Maybe.”

                “Seriously, Akira?!” The light turned green. Two intersections later, the realization hit her. “Oh my god. We just hired an ex-special agent to kidnap our son from the babysitters,” She huffed out a laugh. “I wonder how long it will take them to notice he’s gone.”

                “I’m betting on ten minutes before we come back.”

                “Do you think they’ll panic?”

                “Nah,” Her husband thought for a moment. “Futaba might for a minute, before they try to cover it up.”

                “Yusuke’s not really the type to beat around the bush, though.”

                “True. I can imagine it now,” Akira cleared his throat and started speaking several decibels deeper than his usual pitch. _“Ah, welcome back, Akira. Makoto. As much as it pains me to admit, I do believe we’ve lost your son. As unfortunate as this is, we have no choice but to move onward and you have my best wishes in siring another one.”_

                She snorted, but her husband wasn’t done yet. In a much higher voice that sounded more like Ryuji than Futaba, he continued _“Stupid Inari! We were supposed to ask them about dinner first!”_

 _“Speaking of dinner, did you bring me any?”_ Makoto offered he best Yusuke impression.

                _“I haven't eaten anything that wasn't vegan since Thursday and I'm famished,”_ Akira added.

                Makoto couldn’t help it; she burst into giggles _._ “We are _terrible.”_               

* * *

                 Raising a child, it turned out, was a lot harder than he thought it'd be.

                Akechi spent the first week mail-ordering the less important things at discounted prices off Amazon and reading up on babies. The internet was an incredible help, but there were some things that just _weren’t_ mentioned, such as different bottles having different sized holes at the top. After nearly choking Akira to death on day three by feeding him formula from a bottle meant for infants over 18 months, Goro, his son, his laptop, his detective notepad and the ever-growing baby bag became semi-permanent fixtures in the sterile new-born corner of the pediatrician waiting room. He was perfectly aware of how irritating he probably was gathering intel from other parents (the secretaries had not-so kindly told him to leave them alone so they could do their jobs) like he would suspects or witnesses of a murder case, but Akechi was terrified of failing a second time. Most of the other parents were bemused but accepting and willing to answer his questions as they waited for the doctor. The mother he met on his first visit who demonstrated ways to prevent choking was an absolute _godsend_ and provided him with tips faster than he could write them down with patience Akechi wouldn’t have believed humanly possible if he hadn’t experienced it first-hand.

                The first several nights were spent with Akechi waking up every two hours to check that Akira was still curled up against his chest. He knew it was ridiculous, but he was afraid to leave his baby in the crib overnight. Too many what-ifs spiraled through his mind when he tried to sleep with Akira out of his sight, so he rearranged his bedroom so that his bed was barricaded on two sides by wall, moved his dresser to prevent Akira from potentially rolling off the bottom and layered the entire thing in pillows and cushions from his only couch. Goro himself blocked the infant from falling off the fourth side, something that wouldn’t have even been an option if he hadn’t been a motionless sleeper.

                After that, they got into more of a pattern. Goro was a relatively light sleeper, so feeling Akira fidgeting and rolling away from him was enough to wake him up most nights. And, on the nights it wasn’t, the crying worked like a charm.

                Akira rarely ever cried, which meant that Akechi had to pay close attention to the clock and constantly check on him during his numerous daily naps to make sure he was alright. It was far more work than he could have ever imagined and Akechi didn’t even get six months into parenthood before he found himself going from working part-time to completely resigning from the police force altogether. He would still work with them on cases but, as a Private Investigator, he’d have far more flexible hours and the freedom to do much of his work at home.

                In theory, it was a fool-proof plan but in practice? Not so much.

                He had _completely_ overestimated his worth to the police department. Akechi had stupidly thought himself an invaluable resource. He wasn’t. Despite being a the best detective in town, he had never made any effort to get to know or really work with any of his coworkers and, in this small town, there wasn’t enough crime for the police to be desperate enough to reach out for him. He’d been a P.I. for nine months and not once had the police called for his assistance. Or even called at all, for that matter. The two cases he’d received were simple go-be-a-stalker-and-find-out-what-my-wife-is-doing-so-I-don’t-have-to gigs, one of which turned out to be just a paranoid husband. Unfortunately for Akechi, no proof of scandal meant less money and one hundred fifty hours of his time wasted.

                He was actively searching for work, but the only part-time jobs available were minimal wage ones where he couldn’t bring Akira and he couldn’t afford to pay a sitter for the hours he’d be required to work and still pay for other necessities as well, nor could he _trust_ anyone to watch Akira for extended periods of time. He’d always been frugal with his spending and accumulated a fair amount in savings, but, between the doctor’s appointments, the diapers, the food, Akira needed new clothing at an almost constant rate, his account ran dry. Babies were _expensive_ and, as much as he hated himself for it, until he could find a permanent job, he had no choice but to tap into the money Shido had given him ten years ago before he went under the radar. Even that was slowly running out and he still had no idea what to do with himself nor anybody to console for help.

                But never for a moment had he regretted adopting his son. He regretted not being as prepared as he should have been, but being unable to work anything but small jobs here and there had allowed him months to focus solely on Akira that he wouldn’t have otherwise. The time spent caring for, documenting, and watching Akira’s growth in awe was invaluable to him.

                Goro had heard Akira’s first word (“pancake”), watched him take his first steps, taught him how to count, untangled those small hands out of his hair more times than he could remember, and with guidance from his elderly landlady, women around town and the Internet, somehow managed to not screw up too badly.

                However, the stress, the lack of sleep, the restlessness, and the terrifying realization that, at the rate things were going, he wouldn’t be able to pay for rent after three months had Akechi in the heart of Tokyo for the first time in over a decade with Akira on his hip visiting the only person from his past who knew he was still alive.

                “Oh. It’s _you,”_ were the first words out of Masayoshi Shido’s mouth after the prison guards escorted him into the visitation room. The door closed behind him, and Shido sat at the table across from his former hitman with his hands folded, looking more like the CEO of a corporation leading a meeting than an inmate meeting a visitor. “I’m surprised you didn’t come sooner.”

                The scene was sickingly familiar; sans the sprinkles of gray in his goatee, the politician had barely aged, unlike the former detective whose once boyish face had gotten loner and gained harder edges over the years. Akechi wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but Shido looking exactly as he remembered caught him completely off guard. His heart was pounding in his chest and his emotions were a spiraling whirlpool shifting from anger to disappointment to fear to nostalgia to betrayal and back, never resting on one for too long before jumping to another.

                Goro blinked. Why was he here again? He didn’t want Shido’s money. He had no need for the man’s influence or resources, nor did he feel any real desire to kill the man. When he was filling out the visitation paperwork, he hadn’t thought past seeing Shido. And now that he was here… What now? What exactly was he supposed to say to the person he’d spent his youth obsessing over now that everything was said and done?

                He didn’t need to think about it too long; Akira started squirming to reposition himself Akechi’s lap to have a better view of the unfamiliar man on the other side of the table. He looked up at Shido, gray eyes filled with nothing but innocent curiosity, and Shido looked down at him, only now noticing the third presence in the room.

                For a second, Goro’s heart stopped. Akira had become such a present fixture in his life over the past year and a half that having him everywhere with him had become something he didn’t even think about anymore. He hadn’t even _considered_ the possibility of having to introduce his former employer to his year-and-a-half-old son.

                “And this is…?”

                “My son.”

                Shido’s eyes scanned both of their faces, looking for similarities and finding nothing but differences in their facial structure, pigmentation, hair texture and eyes. “Are you—”

                “He was adopted,” Akechi’s eyes narrowed, silently daring the other to comment on it. He didn’t.

                Akira’s focus remained locked on Shido throughout the exchange. “Who you?”

                “Pardon?”

                "Who you?"

                “He’s asking who you are.” Goro translated.

                “I’m Masayoshi Shido. And who might you be?” Shido’s voice was disgustingly, unnaturally warm, but what really irked Akechi was how _genuine_ it sounded.

                “I'm Akira!”

                “Akira?” Shido’s eyes widened and focused back on the other man’s face. “You named him after _him?”_

                After mild hesitation, Goro nodded, looking anywhere but his former boss and completely missing the way the man’s lips curled upwards for a mere second as if he were struggling to fight back a laugh.

                “He has a son, too. About the same age as your boy, if I recall correctly.” After taking in Akechi’s expression, Shido continued. “He comes to visit me at least twice a month, you know. He’s the only one who does anymore.”

                “Well, aren’t you popular,” Akechi replied sardonically, mentally brainstorming possible reasons the (former) leader of the Phantom Thieves could possibly want to visit the man who had him arrested _twice_.

                “I used to think I was,” The convict smiled ruefully. “Kurusu’s a social worker now. He visits once a month for my thoughts on various city plans, among other things. Kid certainly knows how to use his resources.”

                “’Once a month?’” Akechi repeated. “Then what are the _other_ visits about.”

                “Sharp as ever,” Shido smiled. “Most of them are about _you_.”

                “Me? But why?”

                “That’s something you should ask him yourself.” He shrugged.

                The door opened far sooner than Akechi thought it would. “Time to say your goodbyes, Shido. Your ten minutes are up,” one of the two guards said.

                “It may be hard to believe, but I enjoyed this,” Shido stood up with a stretch. “It was nice meeting you, Akira.”

                “Bye-bye.” The infant waved.

                “Oh, and Akechi?” Shido stopped halfway through the door. “Journalism.”

                “What?”

                “If you’re looking for a full-time job with flexible hours, you should try your hand at journalism.”

                The younger man’s eyes widened. “How did you…?”

                Shido tapped his temple and smiled secretively as he was ushered down the hall.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've attempted to write a fanfic that isn't intended to be humorous and it's terrifying me.


End file.
